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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370076">A Pretty Picture</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis'>Jarakrisafis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DA Short Prompt Fills [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Light Dom/sub, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:27:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was wondering how long you two were going to make out like that before you realized you weren’t alone."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Aeducan/Male Brosca/Gorim Saelac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DA Short Prompt Fills [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077689</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Pretty Picture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tumblr prompt: “I was wondering how long you two were going to make out like that before you realized you weren’t alone."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The flickering fire reflects off the bronze skin of the once casteless dwarf leaning back against the wall, the dark blue of the pillows behind him framing his skin in a way that should probably be considered as artistic. It makes shadows on skin littered with tattoos and scars. It highlights muscles usually covered by cloth or armour. His head is resting on the wall, eyes closed, mouth parted, sweat gathering on his skin. His legs are spread, obscenely so, if not for the body sprawled between them. His hands are curled round braids, fingers dug deep into hair to hold his partner still as he gently fucks into the mouth that’s tight around his cock.</p><p>Gorim knows all too well that feeling, his own stirring at the thought, aroused by the soft moans echoing round the room. It’s mesmerising, that two fighters could be so gentle, so soft, tender. </p><p>“Fuck.” Brosca murmurs, the word drawn out until it’s nearly unrecognisable, his hips jerking upwards, harder, faster, yet still controlled, still considerate. Paler fingers tighten on his thighs, not quite holding on, grounding, not protesting the harsher treatment. Not that Duran would protest such a thing if it was to occur, but it doesn’t seem to be part of whatever plan for tonight Faren has.</p><p>Gorim unties his breeches, gently taking himself in hand as he leans against the wall to watch. His shirt is already long gone, thrown over one of the couches and his boots are by the door. It’s too hot to stand around in too many layers when Faren’s had the fire built up, he doesn’t like the cold. They make such a pretty picture together. Duran is so yielding, compliant in a way he never is beyond these rooms, Faren commanding him as easily as Gorim himself does.</p><p>“Fuck,” Faren says again as he shudders, fingers gently unwinding from Duran’s braids and patting his thigh, eyes blinking open to look down at Duran as he settles where requested before he jerks his head back up with a sharper, “shit!” One hand moves to the blond head and the hair spread across his thigh, stopping and soothing Duran’s attempt at sitting up to see what’s surprised him, “fucking sod Gorim, bit of warning next time.” </p><p>He can see the tension leave Duran’s frame as quickly as it arrived at the mention of his name. Though Gorim isn’t sure who else it could have been at this time of night who also has a key to let themself in. “I was wondering how long you two were going to make out like that before you realized you weren’t alone,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and heading over, his breeches dropped and left halfway to the bed.</p><p>Duran gives him a lazy smile from his sprawl once he gets into his view, though it doesn’t hide the way he’s holding himself in check, hands clenched and belying the easy relaxation he’s aiming for. “You want me to...”</p><p>“No,” Gorim cuts him off as he pats Duran’s nearest shoulder and climbs onto the unoccupied end of the bed, “roll over.” Nice as Duran’s mouth is, he’s got other plans right now. Faren smirks, leaning over to the table beside the bed to grab and then toss him a pot of the unscented oil, and following that one of the pillows, before winding his fingers back into Duran’s hair as he shifts onto his back. The Prince tilts his head back, breath hitching as Faren’s fingers settle over his bared throat.</p><p>“Don’t move.” Faren says, and Duran nods, a small movement. Faren’s barely touching him, a flicker of fingers over paler skin, yet it’s enough to hold him still, pliant as Gorim settles him into a comfortable position and prepares him, only his clenching hands in the furs and the whimpers escaping him showing how he’s feeling.</p><p>There’s no reason to rush, every reason to take their time and enjoy what they’ve got. Some nights are all about the fight, the power, about rutting in the furs and leaving bruises. Other nights are like this, about taking him slowly, coaxing the softest of sounds out of him. About watching how he shifts his hips up to meet the slow, torturously slow, thrusts. About watching the strain as he holds himself in place, a far harder task than straining against rope or chain.</p><p>The breathless gasps and moans slowly change to his name, Faren’s name, to pleading and swearing, the grip on the furs like a deathgrip, and Gorim chuckles, smoothing a hand down Duran’s chest, over sweat slicked hair and he arches into his touch with a whimper. Gorim shifts his weight, leaning over him, and the already incoherent babble of words turns into a completely wordless howl, Duran’s entire body shuddering as he comes and Gorim stills himself, fingers stroking over a cheek as he pulls out, finishing himself with a few sharp strokes.</p><p>He meets Faren’s eyes and he’s pulled forwards into a deep possessive kiss. “Fucking hot,” Faren says when they break for air, “bath?”</p><p>Gorim nods and rolls off the bed before stopping to help Duran who’s near melting off the mattress as he tries to get his limbs in order. Clean would be good. And possibly round two, one never knows.</p>
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